Across the River Styx
by ChangedAtTheBehestOfSomebody
Summary: "We are not men disguised as wolves, but wolves disguised as men. Only in the tales that humans tell, do the hunters kill the wolves in the end."
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Okay, round two. Scrapped the first version of this after a certain somebody made me realize that the story wasn't exactly up to snuff. I can't say for myself if this reboot will be much better, but I can certainly say that I'm a bit more satisfied with the results so far than ever before. **

**For anybody that happens to be new to the fic, it's just a crossover between VC and Kerberos Panzer Cop. Again, it's slightly AU but I didn't want to slap in a timeline or something for the first chapter, and I sure as hell could not fit any significant context into a brief summary, so you'll just have to bear with me for the first few chapters or so. **

_Ghirlandaio_

_March 10_

The steady splashing of heavy boots echoed down the length of the sewage tunnel, the molded brick walls bathed in an eerie, dim red tint through Captain Walter Kruger's gas mask. The only other sound he could register was his own heavy breathing, laboured and distorted as it filtered through his mask's speakers. His heart beat like a drum in his chest, the rhythmical thumping beating on his eardrums as heavily as the faint, dull thuds of distant artillery.

His and three other pairs of boots halted in the thick muck that coated the floor as the low roar of an explosion, muffled by layers of stone, shook the small, cramped space. Dust and small bits of debris shook loose of the walls in the narrow tunnel as more roars joined in the thunderous cacophony of destruction, the intensity of the quakes shaking the walls intensifying. Kruger glanced down at his watch, squinting his eyes to try to make out the numbers through the eyepieces of his mask. _Shit. We're past our window. _The faint rumble of starting engines and rapid footfalls from above confirmed his fears.

He craned his neck back, finding himself staring back at three pairs of glowing red eye lenses. He held up two fingers and frantically motioned his squad forwards. _Double time it. _

They barely needed to acknowledge his orders before breaking out in a brisk jog, their armor clanking and sloshing as they followed their Captain forwards through the filthy water, their helmeted heads held low under the low ceiling. The faintest hints of fighting began to drift down the tunnel, panicked shouts and cracking rifles drowned out by the occasional grenade blast. Kruger could just barely make out the bright red patterns of firelight shining through a sewer grate, picking up his pace and fighting the downwards pull of his heavy trenchcoat and armor into the sewage beneath him.

The rusted metal rungs of an age-old ladder came into view as he neared the exit to the murderously tight tunnel, hellish orange drowning out dim red as he switched off his mask's night vision and motioned for his men to do the same.

The stars in the dark night sky were just barely visible through the bars in the sewer grate, the freedom of open space beckoning to him, his boots clanking against the rungs and his thick leather gloves sloughing off flakes of rust as he scrambled up the ladder and threw the rusted metal grate open.

A quick glance around showed him nothing but pandemonium, pillars of fire casting twisted shadows on the stone ground as Gallian soldiers sprinted towards defensive positions, hauling machine guns, boxes of ammunition and in some cases, large buckets of water to extinguish the rapidly spreading flames in the fortress. Safely cloaked in shadow, he felt surprisingly distant from their peril.

Thankfully for Kruger, the Gallians were too preoccupied to notice either him kneeling next to the small tunnel exit or the rest of his squad hauling themselves out of the cramped hole. As soon as his last man pulled himself out of the sewers, the squad of four set off sprinting towards their objective.

The din of distant heavy Imperial artillery and exploding shells drowned out their heavy footfalls as they sprinted across the ground, the shadows of Ghirlandaio's colossal walls and buildings washing over them as they snaked past troops and vehicles zipping in the opposite direction towards the fortress gates.

In the distance, Kruger could hear the tortured groaning of the aged yet somehow still steadfast front gates as they shuddered and buckled under a torrent of Imperial cannonfire. He tore past a Gallian soldier, close enough to make out her pale face creased in fear, close enough to see the her white knuckles shaking as she gripped her rifle murderously tight, he felt the briefest, slightest pang of guilt as he slipped by like a ghost and continued with his team towards the fortress armory.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur Reimer shivered with anxiousness as he tucked himself in the corner of the requisitions office, left with only his own, maddening thoughts as his colleagues dashed away from the small office outside the armory to take up arms alongside the troops at the main gates. Papers and registries lay strewn about the room, gleaming pristine white under the moonlight and a frightening reminder of his sudden outburst of panic and despair just moments ago. It bubbled beneath his skin again, and he could only curl up tighter and try to force it back down.

He hugged his knees tight to his chest, rocking back and forth and trying to block out the incessant screaming of artillery outside. _Why? Why did you have to go? Why did you all have to leave me here? Why didn't you just stay here, where it's safe… _

He choked back a sob as the screeching of warped metal assaulted his ears, followed by two, reverberating _thuds _as Ghirlandaio's battered, warped gates finally gave out and crashed against the cold, stone ground. A collective roar, perhaps of fury, perhaps of fear seemed to shake the stars themselves, drowning out even the impossibly loud cacophony of gunfire that then flooded the fortress courtyard. For all their courage though, Arthur knew full well that the Gallian defenders would be slaughtered in the ensuing firefight.

_It's over, _he thought, tears welling in his eyes. The moment a Gallian sergeant had poked his helmeted head into the room, calling him and his colleagues to aid with the defense, he should have known that this wasn't just another routine prod at the fort's defenses by the Imperials. This was _it. _The moment he had been hoping he'd never have to face. This was when the fortress would finally fall. _It's all over and now I'm going to die alone because… because-_

His thoughts were cut short as he caught a glimpse of movement of in the darkness, brief but sudden. His heart thundered in his chest, his wild, bulging blue eyes sweeping the shadows, searching for the source of the disturbance. Nothing. _There's nothing there. I'm just seeing things. _He squeezed his eyes shut for a full five seconds, repeating the mantra in his head.

He opened them again and saw nothing but an ocean of black. _Good. Good. _A cataclysmic roar in the distance followed by an immense pillar of fire shooting into the night sky shattered the brief moment of relief he had felt though, and he forced himself further against the cold, callous steel wall of the control booth. He diverted his eyes, blinking away tears as he stared at the empty darkness of the outside. It was oddly comforting to know that at least if anything came for him from the dark, he wouldn't be aware enough of it before it killed him. His breathing slowed. _I'm going to die here, there's no escape. _Surely it couldn't be all that bad could it? Maybe if he just closed his eyes… shut everything out… his eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and it was only then that he was reminded that it had been nearly three days since he had last caught some real sleep. _Yeah… that might be best…_

But then he saw it. Out of the shadows came a ghost, a spectre of some sorts, cloaked in darkness and heading straight towards _him_. His eyes snapped back open and his breath froze in his throat, the hammering heartbeat in his chest drowning out the screams of men and women being cut down by bullets in the distance. As the figure reached the doorway leading into the control booth, it reared up, bringing its form to its full height. The towering figure eclipsed the moon for a brief moment, two dim crimson orbs barely visible in the darkness hovering where a man's eyes should have been. For a moment, Arthur was certain that the Grim Reaper himself had arrived to claim his life. He laid paralyzed against the wall, in absolute shock at what was happening. _It's Death, _he thought. _It's Death himself and he's coming to take me! _

But the thing's attention was not on him, rather focused on the solitary switch welded to the far wall in the booth. The switch that would open the gates to the fortress armory.

Arthur could have sworn he felt the ground shake as the figure, still veiled in darkness walked right past him and strode over to the lever. _It doesn't see me, _Arthur realized. Either that, or he really was beginning to go insane. That thought was quickly quashed as the… entity he saw grabbed onto the switch and pulled. It gave away much easier than Arthur had always imagined, having never had to operate the mechanism himself or having seen anyone do so. He winced as the screeching of aged metal assaulted his ears, the doors to the armory opening up like the great maw of a ravenous beast.

He didn't dare even move to let out a single breath as the thing strode right past him again, completely oblivious to his presence. As it swiftly slipped out of the doorway, its form mingled with shadow and disappeared once more.

_I must be going insane, _thought Arthur. He squeezed his eyes shut once more, trying to block out the disturbingly vivid hallucination he had just experienced. _It's not real, it's not real…_

And then realization hit him. His eyes snapped back towards the armory doors. Sure enough, they remained wide open, the dim lights inside having been activated and casting a soft white light upon the drab, grey interior. And standing in the midst of it all, was not just one, but _four _figures almost exactly like the thing he had seen earlier. There was absolutely no way he could be imagining something like this. This was _really happening_.

Arthur edged slowly closer to the door of the office, careful to keep himself out of the light. As he inched nearer he could just barely pick out _voices _coming from the figures over the ever-growing din of gunfire.

_Those things are actually people! _He realized. He had been unable to see before, but under the soft light of the armory interior, Arthur could see the hard, straight edges of armor plates covering their forms. Possibilities began to race through his head. _Who are they? Imperials? If they are, why are they in here? There's nothing in this armory except for a bunch of antiquated weapons… _

He strained his ears, trying his best to block out the sounds of no longer so distant fighting and focus on the words of the four soldiers. It wasn't easy, especially since the voices originating from them was distorted by some sort of speaker system, but the few words he did hear only fed his curiosity.

_"Lower levels…" _

Lower levels? He didn't even know such a thing existed. Everything listed in the registry was, to his knowledge, neatly stacked in rows upon rows or filed together in aisles on the armory's only main floor. Surely these people simply didn't know that? Or maybe it was _him _that had been kept in the dark the whole time…

Arthur couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, but he could tell that whoever these people were, they certainly weren't up to any good. He gulped as they concluded whatever briefing they were holding and swiftly set off into the armory… but not before one of them flipped a switch inside and began to shut the gate again. The gears grinded, and the gate seemed to take ages to move even inches. _I have to do something! _

He made to stand up then, but then a claw of fear leapt from the shadows and yanked him back into his hiding spot. _Do what? _He was little more than an office clerk, responsible for handling papers and not goddamn weapons. If he couldn't even muster up the courage to face the Imperials, what in the hell would he be able to do here?

An explosion rocked the earth, shockwaves reverberating throughout the small room he was in. Panicked shouts and rifle cracks grew intensity from around the corner, and Arthur could see stray tracers zipping by already. _Oh god…_

His gaze drifted back to the open armory, but the door was already beginning to ponderously and slowly close back down. It was now or never. Either he could die here, lying down and curled up in a ball, or he could chase after the four unknown individuals…

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then made his decision.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Holy damn," breathed First Lieutenant Otto Muller as he stepped out from behind Kruger into the cavernous storage room, crates upon crates containing the dreaded Ragnite Gas canisters that he and his squad sought.

_Yep, this is definitely it, _thought Kruger grimly as he spotted the words 'DANGER' stamped boldly on the side of every metal crate. He turned to face his squad, giving his orders in short, clipped speech.

"Lieutenant Muller," he started. "Get those satchel charges set and ready to go in ten minutes. The High Marshal wants this whole damn armory leveled, nothing left for even the vultures. Clear?"

Otto nodded sharply and set off quickly down the aisles of crates, unslinging four bulky satchel charges from his pack and seeking out the structural weakpoints identified in the building schematic shown to him prior to the mission. Kruger moved on, directing his next instructions to his squad's heavy weapons specialist, Sergeant Helmuth Schultz.

"Sergeant Schultz, watch the door. You see any Imps, blow 'em away."

The man stood taller than most, and seemed only even more intimidating clad in heavy armor. The old veteran nodded grimly, his face unreadable under his mask. He knew as well as Kruger that by 'Imps', he really meant just about anyone that wasn't supposed to know about their mission. _And today, that means the Gallians too_, he reflected bitterly. Helmuth swiveled to face the entrance to the storage chamber, checking the barrel and the belt feed of his weapon before hefting it by the side of his hip as Kruger addressed the last member of the team.

"Corporal Kaspar." Corporal Wilhelm Kaspar's head snapped up at attention as Kruger strode over to one of the heavy metal crates and motioned him over. "Help me with this." The young sniper was lanky and agile, but that didn't mean he was lacking in any strength.

Kruger grunted as he lifted the crate off of the stack, Wilhelm remaining silent and not even eliciting a grunt as they set the heavy box down on the grey, stone floor with a barely noticeable _thud. _

Otto jogged past them as they set to prying open the lid with a crowbar, now with only two charges dangling over his shoulder and several cords trailing behind him.

Kruger's muscles strained under his armor and coat as he pressed down on the crowbar, the wrought iron bending at a seemingly impossible angle as the lid inched open at a snail's pace. _Come on, come on…_

With one final push down on the crowbar, the lid practically snapped open, exposing a pile of neatly stacked, cylindrical canisters nearly half as tall as himself. His hands robotically reached out and wrapped around the nearest one he could find, the container proving to be deceptively heavy as he hauled it out of the crate. He held it firmly, his arms shaking slightly not so much with strain under the thing's weight, but with anxiousness. _This _was the thing that was so destructive, so feared by the nations of Europa that they had agreed to ban its use and destroy every remaining trace of it… or so it was written.

Kruger couldn't help but note the irony of the fact that it was Gallia, such a small and seemingly innocent nation in the shadow of a colossal Empire and Federation, that harbored the last remaining samples of what was perhaps the most infamous chemical weapon produced in the history of warfare.

"Charges are set," bellowed Otto from the far side of the room as he quickly jogged back over to regroup with the rest of his team.

Kruger spared one final glance down at the canister he cradled in his arms, the full gravity of what he was doing threatening to crush him under its weight. _Ten minutes from now, _he thought, _and this little canister will be the only damn thing left of that piece of history. _One of the deadliest weapons known to man, in the possession of Kerberos. He didn't have any illusions of what the High Marshal planned to do with it. _Orders are orders. _He passed it over to Otto wordlessly, his expression grim and unreadable beneath his gas mask. The lieutenant quickly secured it tightly to his back, right above his field pack. As Kruger stepped back, he motioned his squad to gather around before unslinging his assault rifle.

"Alright. We have about ten minutes to get out of here before this entire armory is buried, probably less before the Imps overrun the fort. We-"

He stumbled forwards as a tremendous quake rocked the underground storage room, the already dim lights flickering and dying, bathing the room in a sea of black. A notably high-pitched yelp lashed out in the darkness. _Shit! That sure as hell wasn't one of my men…_

"Who's there!?"

He cursed himself for letting the words slip his mouth out of instinct and alerting whoever the possible intruder was, but it was too late regardless. All was silent as his squad fumbled about, bringing their weapons to bear and scrambling to activate their night vision.

They needn't have bothered. Barely seconds later, another explosion, notably weaker this time, rocked the room and the lights conveniently flickered back on. Kruger's heart practically froze over in despair as he saw the scrawny, cowering form of a blonde man in the middle of the floor, his white overalls still clean and pristine. The man took one glance up at Kruger, and his blue eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the door.

_Oh hell… no! _

His squad leaped into action, training their weapons steadily trained on the intruder. "Halt!" The man stumbled over a stray crate thrown loose by the previous explosion, crying out in terror as he tumbled head over heels and rolled to a rest just metres away from the exit. Like a pack of wolves surrounding a wounded animal, Kruger and his squad swarmed around him, their weapons trained steadily on his quivering form. Yet none dared to make a further move without Kruger's order.

Kruger's trigger finger twitched, ready to deliver the killing shot himself but he hesitated as the intruder slowly rolled over and fixed his bright blue eyes with Kruger's gaze. The man's face was streaked with snot and tears, but his visage was clean-shaved and smooth. _Oh god… he's only a kid…_ His own hand began to tremble as his finger froze on the trigger. Arthur Reimer didn't say anything, his tongue welded to the roof of his mouth as he laid paralyzed in fear.

Kruger's squad made no move, none of them eager to execute an unarmed civilian. The High Marshal's voice echoed in his head, her last words to him before he had departed for his mission cold and firm. _No witnesses. _Kruger took a deep breath and, with monumental effort, tore himself free of his crippling doubts and planted his boot firmly on the young man's chest, forcing his head to remain steady against the grey stone floor. _Orders are orders._ Arthur made no move to resist, merely squeezing his eyes shut and letting slip one last pathetic whimper. Kruger's vision began to blur, and he forced a lump down his throat as he steadied his sights over the head of Arthur. _Shoot him! Now!_

By some cruel twist of fate, Arthur slowly opened his eyes one final time, those bright blue orbs boring right through the mask that shielded Kruger's face as his finger jammed down on the trigger of his rifle. Through the overlapping splashes of crimson blood on grey stone, Kruger could have sworn he saw a face of pure malice, a grotesque image of a skull howling with malevolent laughter taking the place of Arthur's terrified visage as it melted away.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Corporal Nonnenhof was the first man into the armory, his submachine gun shouldered and swiveling about as he searched for targets. He frowned, squinting and trying to make out any possible targets in the poor lighting. Not a single mouse stirred amongst the aisles of neatly stacked ammunition crates. He swallowed a lump in his throat, steadying his nervous hands and taking point as his team followed behind him. They assembled in the wide open maw of Ghirlandaio's armory, weapons and vehicles of all shapes and sizes, some dating back to even EWI neatly filed away in crates and stacks.

His voice came out more meek and timid than he had meant it to. "Alright, you heard the General's orders. Keep an eye out for any Gallian survivors, and if you find them…" He let the words hang awkwardly in the air for a moment as thirteen pairs of eyes peered back at him from under helmet slits. "Well, you know what to do."

Nonnenhof let out a sigh of relief as the team that he now led dispersed around the room, some grumbling under their breaths about being assigned to mere cleanup duty. Nonnenhof himself was actually rather glad that General Bles had put him out of the line of fire; his team's actual sergeant had been killed in the massive firefight moments earlier, and the woman had simply promoted him on the spot to squad leader without much thought.

He fidgeted nervously in the open, waiting for his team spread down the aisles of boxes, poking and prodding at darkened crevices in search of any cowardly Gallian troops. Nonnenhof doubted they would find anything, but he could hardly say he was disappointed by the thought. As he slung his submachine gun over his shoulder, he felt the press of hard, dry parchment against his chest and realized that he had forgotten to mail away the letter he had written for his mother before departing. _Damn it. _

He felt a brief pang of longing as her old, warm face came to mind, but it also brought along a sense of comfort. _Soon, _he thought. Once the Empire took Ghirlandaio, it would only be a matter of months, maybe weeks before Gallia fell and he could go home. With that thought in mind and encouraging him, he set out to inspect his men's progress.

He couldn't help but just slightly grin as he saw a pair of younger men, barely out of their teens from what he remembered, joking with each other as they playfully inspected the various outdated armaments lying around. One reached up and slapped the other on the back of his helmet, and the other boy nearly smacked his friend in the face as he brought his rifle up in panic. They remained still for a moment, then broke out in howling laughter. It always surprised him how people managed to find enjoyment in even the darkest of situations.

His light smile shattered as instantly as one of the boys' heads beneath his faceplate as a single, loud _crack _echoed throughout the storage room. _Oh god…_He stood frozen to the spot asa second shot rang out, silencing the other boy's despaired cries and shots, the expertly aimed bullet slicing through the thin metal of the trooper's helmet with little effort and lancing out the other side in a shower of steaming gore and bits of bone.

And then pandemonium ensued. Nonnenhof instinctively launched himself behind a stack of crates just in time to avoid a bullet from an unseen attacker as the heavy, staccato chatter of gunfire and the panicked shouts of his men filled the room. Over the din of combat, he heard one, shrill scream ring out. "_Ambush!" _

Trapped behind the pile of crates of unable to move for fear of being picked off by the shooter from earlier, he could only cower and clutch his submachine gun tightly as his comrades were picked off like flies.

A pair of shocktroopers collapsed to the ground, riddled with precision bursts while a trio of riflemen were cut to bloody shreds in a storm of machine gun bullets.

He spotted a group of five of his men huddled around behind an inactive and outdated Gallian tank just metres away from his position. They beckoned over wildly to him. Nonnenhof responded by shaking his head, pushing himself further back against the crate he had taken cover behind and clutching his gun so tight he could literally feel his knuckles turning white under his gloves.

The last few shouts of his other men died out along with the gunfire, and suddenly he and the group of troops perched barely ten metres to his left were the only Imperial soldiers left in the room. _Damn it, I can't just stay here!_

He heard the faintest shift in movement, the steady clank of armor plates nearing. His mind screamed at him and he leapt into action.

Without even glancing behind him he tore out of his cover, sprinting as fast as possible towards his surviving men as they themselves, seeing their leader fleeing towards them, turned and made a mad dash for the exit of the armory.

Pain shot up Nonnenhof's leg as a bullet grazed his calf and he stumbled, yelping in a mixture of surprise and pain, but he caught himself and continued running, ducking around the corner of the tank as another bullet followed and sparked off the machine's dull, blue hull. His troops halted for a brief moment, turning back and looking at him in concern. He opened his mouth to scream at them, to tell them to keep going, but it was too late.

Sergeant Helmuth seemed to faze in from the shadows, slithering out with speed and grace that did not logically fit his bulky, armored form. The five Imperial soldiers whipped around, desperately trying to bring their weapons to bear on the armored man but they moved too slowly, too uncoordinated in their actions to delay the inevitable. A rifleman managed to score a glancing hit on Sergeant's shoulder pad, but the bullet plinked off harmlessly as the Kerberos commando's finger depressed on the trigger of his machine gun.

A terrifying noise not unlike the tearing of cloth filled Nonnenhof's ears as his team was shredded, bullets tearing through armor and flesh effortlessly, blood splashing against the grey floor as the lightly armored bodies of his squadmates crashed against the cold, unforgiving stone.

He himself tried to scream, perhaps in panic, perhaps in fear, perhaps in rage, but he was punched back against the hull of the tank as a stray burst of machine gun bullets tore into his chest and stomach. His vision went red, and the screams of his dying men along with the apocalyptic cacophony of machine gun fire dulled.

He slumped against the rusted blue tank, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps as he fought to keep his eyes open, catching a brief glimpse of three pairs of boots filing out of the armory past him. And then, there was silence.

Nonnenhof laid there for what seemed like hours, unable to think, barely conscious as his eyes flittered like his heartbeat. His hand fell to his chest, groping instinctively for the letter he had written to his mother. He did so robotically, unable to even register why he was doing so anymore, the significance of the action lost on him as he clung desperately to the last vestiges of his life.

In a way, he was fortunate to have died in such a manner, completely unconscious of surroundings as the satchel charges set in the room beneath him detonated. His ears only picked up a faint rumble, his eyes catching the briefest hint of flame before his world went white.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Citadel Ghirlandaio's ultimate fall proved to be as grand as its existence under Gallian control, what few remaining defenders that remained inside fighting to the bitter end against the Imperial onslaught. Over the various blossoms of fire scattered about the fortress, one pillar towered above all from the remains of the armory, bathing the citadel in a blazing orange inferno as it gave its last, dying gasp.

Captain Kruger craned his neck around, two thousand metres away from the settling storm. Tattered Gallian banners continued to wave on as the faintest pink rays of sunlight began to creep over the horizon. His squad waited impatiently behind him, eager to slither back into the shadows in the face of approaching daylight. "Captain?"

Kruger cut off Otto with a wave of his hand, but the lieutenant insisted. "Sir, there's nothing we can do. We have to leave, _now, _before the Imps start fanning out and looking for survivors."

_Nothing we can do. _For a moment, his thoughts shifted back to the young woman he had passed on the way to the armory, feeling the crushing weight of guilt upon him, the knowledge that he and his squad had entered the fortress under what was supposed to be an ally's control… and had done nothing to help. He had felt the same while slipping back out the fortress, and it had taken him all of his self-control to resist giving the order to step in and at least aid with some sort of organized evacuation of the fortress. However, he knew better than anyone that revealing their presence would have not only doomed him, but Kerberos as a whole.

It didn't help that the only bullets he had fired did little more than end the life of an innocent, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. _I had no choice. _

He let out a heavy sigh as he nodded dejectedly and pivoted around, stalking through a cluster of bushes as he led his team into a dense forest. He repeated the phrase in his mind, mentally chanting the mantra over and over as he tried to wipe the image of Arthur's haunting blue eyes, hollow and frozen over from his mind.

Behind him, the fires in Ghirlandaio blazed on as the sun peaked over the horizon.


	2. Chapter 2

_March 12_

The air was still over the battered plains of Naggiar, the icy breath of Winter hanging over the dry grass and frost-crusted dirt. Spring always arrived last here, the still looming shadow of Death so thick over the battered red clay of the land that even the Spring rains shied away from it.

The Northern Winter, in contrast, sunk its claws deep into the wounded earth, freezing its veins solid and sapping the scattered clusters of grass and shrubs dry of water. Its ice and frost kept the bones of fallen soldiers fresh, their flesh long ago stripped bare by vultures and wind; the grim reminders of the cost of war remained frozen in time, scattered by the thousands across the ravaged plains.

This year, it was no different. Under overcast skies with a few scant rays of morning sunlight peeking out from shattered clouds, Captain Kruger and his men trudged over cold, hard earth, boots crunching against the still frozen-over dirt. For three hours they marched, the air so still and quiet the only sounds they heard aside from their own nervous breathing was the din of distant engines and marching troops, either Gallians fleeing in shame or Imperials recklessly charging forth.

For once, Kruger was thankful for his heavy trenchcoat and chemical suit beneath his armor, the thick material shielding him from the stagnated chill that shrouded the air. His legs ached, his throat was parched, and a chill ran so deep in his veins that he was sure that the mere remnants of the Northern Winter had sunk so deep into his skin it would never leave, but on he marched. Perhaps, the most disturbing part about that was that he wasn't even cold.

He had desperately hoped that he and his squad would not have to traverse the former battlegrounds of Naggiar, but with frantically retreating Gallian forces congesting in the main roads, it was the only quick path through to the small, nameless hamlet he and his squad was to meet their contact in. His team marched eerily quiet behind him, the steady crunching of their boots over the frosty ground the only indication that he was not alone.

They thankfully only needed to skirt around the border of the region, but the areas they traversed were the sites of some of the bloodiest battles of EWI. The frozen-over bones of the dead, long ago bleached by sun lay strewn about, flesh-bare fingers clutching decaying rifles, tattered uniforms clinging to empty shells of men and women. They passed between the gutted carcasses of tanks, blackened, warped metal frozen in agony. They stepped over the crumbling bones of the dead, occasionally accidentally stepping into a long-ago claimed corpse concealed by frost, their remains so fragile that they shattered into pieces to moment heavy boots fell upon them.

Kruger winced as he briefly recalled the first time it had happened to him, barely an hour ago. The man… or woman's skeleton he had unwittingly stepped into had been so disturbingly white and pristine that it had been impossible to discern it from the frost-dusted shrubbery and dirt around. From then on, he kept his eyes glued firmly to the ground as he marched.

After a while, he spared a quick glance back at Otto who, despite the immense weight of the Ragnite Gas canister pressing down on his back, marched on vigilantly, scanning the horizons for an enemy that would never appear with his rifle clutched tightly in his gloved hands. Behind him, Wilhelm and Helmuth followed, their weapons held at the ready as they trudged through the death-fertile soil.

It was as though they expected the dead to rise from the frozen earth, invigorated by raging and restless spirits of people long passed. Kruger's mind briefly turned back to a short tale his father had told him as a child, that sometimes, in the heat of thick battle, the spirits of the fallen would become lost and unable to ascend to the afterlife, doomed to wander the battlegrounds they fell upon aimlessly. It was all hogwash of course, and his father had been quick to remind him that it was little more than a story, but it stuck with Kruger regardless.

For a moment, he heard his father's voice again, firm and commanding yet warm and comforting, echoing in his head as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He was quick to curb such thoughts however.

And yet despite how unlikely such a thing could happen, his men stalked on with their weapons held ready to grant any lost spirits the rest that they yearned.

Kruger turned back to the agonizing march, glancing down at his watch. _We've been at this for almost three hours straight… _but that also meant that they would be nearing their destination. The village they had been directed to lay precariously in the outskirts of Naggiar, a scant forty kilometres away from Ghirlandaio.

It was a small, relatively uninhabited place, which considering its surroundings shouldn't have been surprising; from the few images shown to Kruger during the briefing, he could have sworn he saw an old trench system off to the side of the place, with a burnt-out tank laying in the middle of the town. It was a wonder that anybody lived there at all… with that in mind though, it also happened to be the perfect place for covert and relatively hasty extraction. He could only hope that the contact the High Marshal arranged for them wouldn't just lose their nerve and leave without them, with the Imperials advancing rapidly.

_Out of sight, out of mind. _He considered pulling the folded-up map he carried out of his coat pocket, but decided against it, figuring that a village in the middle of a rolling meadow wouldn't be difficult to spot.

He shivered as a cool breeze swept across the ragged ground, an eerie wail following in its wake. He nearly jumped as the tattered skeleton of a dead tank pilot shifted from its perch on the turret of a disabled tank, roused from its slumber from the wind. Kruger could have sworn he saw the skull, with a mouth full of shattered and rotting teeth, crack a sadistic grin at him before it slumped back against the blackened hull of the tank. Kruger blinked, shaking his head and trying to force the image out of his mind.

When he looked back however, he momentarily found himself staring back into a pair of very familiar blue eyes. His eyes widened beneath his mask, and he stood stock still, staring at the defiled corpse of Arthur Reimer draped over the carcass of a tank. Blood congealed around his pale face, his white overalls as crisp and pristine as the frost that graced the tank wreckage he laid splayed out atop of. His eyes were wide open, bulging like a deer in the headlights as his cracked, bloodied lips creaked open and a single whisper slipped out from between the crags of flesh.

_Why? _

"You alright Captain?" Otto's voice startled Kruger, and he whipped around to face the Lieutenant. The man's face was invisible through his gas mask, but his voice and posture were wrought with caution and concern. Helmuth and Wilhelm shifted nervously behind him, clearly not pleased with the prospect of having to remain in the unmarked graveyard for much longer.

A whisper rang in his ears.

_Don't ignore me Captain. _

Kruger whipped back around, bringing his rifle to bear on… a shambling pile of bones, a few bits of a ragged uniform that clung to it still whipping in the wind. He shook his head, clearing his head before looking back at where Arthur had just lay moments earlier. Sure enough, in his place was the skeleton of the dead tank pilot. He suppressed a sigh of relief as he shouldered his rifle and turned back to face Otto.

Another breeze swept across the tattered plains. _It's just the wind, _he assured himself.

"I'm fine," he responded evenly. The Lieutenant didn't respond, but his stance showed that he hardly believed Kruger. "Just… a bit tired is all. Got startled a bit," he said, doing his best to reassure the man.

He stared back a moment longer before reluctantly nodding and continuing on past Kruger, Helmuth and Wilhelm following wordlessly.

Kruger glanced back one more time at the husk of a man, staring listlessly at it for a full five seconds before continuing on his way.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Barely an hour passed before the next signs of trouble came. As Kruger and his team finally marched out of the heart of Naggiar's battlegrounds and closed in on their destination, thick columns of smoke peaked over the distant horizons and coalesced with the drab, stagnant skies.

A quick glance at Kruger's map for a brief moment of reprieve from marching confirmed the squad's worst fears. The pillars of smoke were rising up from the very village their contact and extraction was to be waiting in.

Kruger's heart dropped as they crested a hill, staring down at a ruined village, small fires burning amongst the ruins. Scattered out in the remains of ramshackle buildings were the distinctive, lightly armored forms of Imperial soldiers.

"Ah Hell," growled Helmuth, cocking back the charging handle on his machine gun as he did so, the rest of the squad checking their weapons and crouching down lower against the iced earth, trying not to catch the attention of any of Imperial troops. The withering stalks of yellow grass were crushed against the ground as Kruger and his team lowered themselves atop the hill overlooking the village.

Kruger kneeled, briefly glancing over the Imperial troops milling about in the hamlet below and trying to discern their numbers, but was unable to do so at such an extreme distance.

"Kaspar?" The sniper looked up from his scope as the Captain addressed him. "How many Imps do you see?"

A moment of silence followed Kruger's query as Wilhelm set to scanning the village. A gentle breeze blew through the grass, and a series of incomprehensible whispers slipped into Kruger's ears.. He blocked them out, trying not to think about the hundreds of corpses he had passed on his march, but thankfully Wilhelm spoke up again before he could begin dwelling on such thoughts.

"Looks like two groups of 'em, one of five, the other seven. Riflemen only, no shocktroopers or lancers from what I can see."

Otto butted in, asking his own questions.

"What about vehicles? Armored cars? Trucks?" It was a valid thing to ask, Kruger supposed, considering how their contact, along with any transportation they would have arranged were more or less now written off as a total loss.

"Nothing. Just a scouting party."

_Great_. If it was just a small scouting party of twelve-odd Imperials spread out the village, it might have been worth it to sneak in and check for any leftover supplies… on the other hand, twelve-odd scouts could be difficult to avoid, but with the element of surprise on his side, Kruger was fairly confident he and squad could take them with little trouble… then again it would probably just have been easier to avoid the hamlet altogether and radio back for extraction. The only issue with that was it could take a while for that to happen, and with the Empire making rapid gains already after taking Ghirlandaio, it was unlikely they would arrive in time.

He knelt for a while longer, considering his options before a thought occurred to him.

_Maybe our contact's still in hiding… or maybe they never made it out and our escape vehicle's still intact… _it wasn't much to go on, but it was at least something to start with. The only issue was that searching the village for their contact would undoubtedly mean that he would have to take out the Imperial scouting party, and quickly before they could warn the main force.

_Screw it. We'll probably have to deal with them sooner or later. _He scanned his surroundings, noting that the grass was noticeably taller here already, a few gnarled old oaks dotting the landscape surrounding the town. A plan began to formulate in his head as he motioned for his men to gather around.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Breathe in… _

The crosshairs hovered menacingly over the rust-red helmet of an Imperial officer, Wilhelm's finger itching, his muscles coiled in anticipation as he waited for Kruger's order to fire. It didn't arrive.

_Breathe out. _

He blew out the breath in mild irritation, the noise distorted in his gas mask as it reverberated in his ears.

Several blades of grass tickled at his sniper's scope, obscuring his view, but he dared not move a muscle to brush it aside as he kept his sights locked on his target, ready to fire at a moment's notice. _Patience, _he instructed himself. _You'll have the bastard soon enough. _

Minutes ticked agonizingly away as Kruger and the rest of the team moved into positions, Wilhelm tracking the officer's movement down across the dusty streets, into ruined buildings, and back to the center 'square' of the village. _What the hell are they even doing here? _He wondered as his mind began to search for reasons why an Imperial scouting party would be raiding a run-down village in the middle of nowhere.

It didn't really matter though, since they would all be dead in a matter of moments. _Probably just looting the place, _he thought. From what he could see, the scouting parties had not suffered a single casualty yet, which meant that they had been met with some paltry, pathetic resistance or the village inhabitants had bugged out. It made sense that they would take the opportunity to see what they could gather.

A click rang out from his earpiece, and he allowed himself to crack a grin. Kruger's timing could not have been better, for the Imperial officer was currently casually strolling in the open, inspecting his men's work as they set about to looting the ruined houses scattered around.

_Too bad for you, _he thought as he steadied his sights over the head of the officer, _you picked the wrong grave to rob today. _

The butt of his rifle kicked back into his shoulderpad, the thick armor plating absorbing the recoil as a sharp _crack _echoed across the rolling plains and a bullet hurtled out of the barrel of his sniper.

For one, glorious moment as the officer's head exploded into a shower of gore, the armor piercing bullet shearing effortlessly through the man's helmet and rending the flesh behind asunder, Wilhelm felt as though he had never loosed a truer shot in his life.

The exhilaration of executing a near textbook-perfect shot drove him as he yanked back the bolt on his rifle, ejecting the spent brass casing before sliding it back into place. He ignored the chattering of Kruger and Otto's assault rifles, the two of them unseen to him as he pressed the eyepiece of his mask against the scope of his rifle once more.

The wooden stock rested comfortably in his shoulder as he scanned the battlefield for worthwhile targets, the simple crosshair sights in his scope gliding over cowering white armored forms. His radio blared to life as Kruger shouted his orders out to Helmuth.

_"Sergeant! Blow 'em away!" _

Wilhelm grunted irritably as he loosened his finger, his next selected target shredded to ribbons in a torrent of machine gun fire. Luckily for him, an enemy rifleman had been perched not too far away from his denied kill, and he steadied his sights over her back and she turned and fled, a burst of Helmuth's machine gun fire zipping precariously close to her but ultimately missing.

Wilhelm exhaled as he pulled the trigger, and soon after, the woman collapsed in a heap before the steps of the ruins of the small church she had been sprinting towards, blood pooling around her. He scoffed as she continued to crawl up, struggling to raise her head to catch a glimpse of the crudely-carved spiral at the top of the building's entrance.

The Valkyrur had been commonly regarded by many as a race of gods, an entire religion being built around their worship, but Wilhelm had always dismissed such musings as mere fantasy. He had been raised on the idea by Kerberos that nothing was more godly than a soldier and their rifle, and throughout the three years he spent as a sniper, that ideal had never been proven wrong.

Not taking any chances, he ejected the casing in his rifle one more time and planted a final bullet in the fallen woman's helmeted head for good measure. Wilhelm watched impassively through his scope as steaming gore cooled on the frosted stone steps. _Let's see your 'godly' Valkyrur save you now. _

He swung his rifle about, searching for movement but found little more than cold corpses and his squadmates, already fanning out across the silent ruins and searching for any survivors.

_Back to waiting then, _he thought as he quickly swapped out the half-spent clip in his rifle and re-sighted, scanning for signs of activity.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Captain Kruger pressed his back against the splintered wood wall of the small town's general store, inching his way over to the ramshackle door leading inside. He moved slowly, his boots just barely crunching against the gravel as he shuffled over, his rifle held tight against his chest. He froze in mid-stride as he detected movement inside, rotting floorboards creaking as the last Imperial soldier left shifted around uncomfortably.

He remained completely still as the woman gently poked the barrel of her rifle out of the window mere meters to Kruger's left, keeping it trained down the now blood-streaked road. He could hear her heavy, nervous breathing as she panned the rifle back and forth, but she never pivoted enough to see Kruger, back pressed against the wall, just meters away from her position.

With Wilhelm's attention likely fixed elsewhere and the fact that alerting him to the lone survivor's presence via radio would likely tip her off, Kruger went back to the excruciating exercise of sneaking over to the back door into the general store.

A splinter of wood shook itself loose of the wall above him as the woman inside took a moment to swap out the magazine in her rifle, likely not having had the chance to do so earlier.

_This is the last time I'm splitting up the team individually, _he thought, cursing his poor fortune for stumbling across the lone Imperial on his own. If all he had was just one more man, he could have easily executed a breach maneuver and cut off both exits from the store without risking tipping off the survivor and sending her hurtling out the other door to scurry off into cover.

Theoretically, he could have also just charged her position, since his armor could shrug off most small-arms fire, but all it would take would be one lucky shot at an unarmoured joint, or even worse, his neck, and the woman would have a clear avenue of escape. For a mission as crucial as this, he wasn't about to take any chances.

The rotting door was already twisted, nearly blown off its hinges already. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he inched the last few meters over, a light breeze bringing ghostly whispers back to his ears. _Now is not the time, damn it! _

He took a moment to catch his breath, composing himself, and then-

He was through the door before he really knew it, instinct taking over as he barreled directly into the door, rotten wood splintering underneath his bulk as he charged in with his shoulder, his rifle already brought to bear as he strode in.

The woman was caught entirely off-guard, her messy brown hair whipping behind her and catching splinters of wood as she jerked around. Kruger's finger depressed on the trigger-

And halted as the soldier's form twisted and convulsed, armor melting into crisp, white overalls, brown hair turning blonde, and those eyes…

Clear and blue as the sky, just as Arthur Reimer's were. The illusion faded as quickly as it came, and then Kruger was left with his rifle pointing at the startled woman, her mouth still agape. For a moment neither of them moved, the Imperial soldier paralyzed by fear and Kruger frozen as his mind raced to spring back into action.

The brief moment of stillness was broken as the Imperial panicked, her rifle clattering to the floor and she turned, the briefest of whimpers escaping her mouth. She turned and ran, tears streaking down her cheeks as she reached for the door on the other side of the room, but it only seemed to slip farther and farther away as she dashed forwards.

Kruger felt disturbingly empty as his finger came back to life once more, jamming down on the trigger of his weapon and emptying the rest of its clip into the unfortunate woman's back.

She let out a stifled yelp as the bullets stitched across her back, gouts of crimson blasting out of cavities, her metal breastplate doing little to stop the ravenous, murderous bullets loosed by Kruger's assault rifle.

She crumpled to the floorboards in a loud _crash _as the brass casings gently plinked on the old wood, gashes tearing deep into her flesh as thick, crimson blood streamed out.

Kruger's vision blurred, and he suddenly felt incredibly light headed as he yanked out the spent clip from his rifle, still smoking at the barrel, and slammed another into place. He didn't bother to confirm his kill, not wanting to remain in the dank room for any longer, and quickly stumbled back out the way he came.

Behind him, he could have sworn he could hear the steady _drip, drop _of blood seeping between floorboards and pattering against the stone foundation below.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lieutenant Otto watched Kruger's approach warily, noting the Captain's tense posture as he marched over silently. He hadn't known the man for very long, but Otto could tell very clearly that something was unsettling Kruger. He had been on edge the entire time they spent in Naggiar, wound up like a spring and ready lash out at the briefest of nudges.

He decided against saying anything as Kruger briefly acknowledged him with a nod and continued into the makeshift garage Helmuth and Wihlem had discovered not long ago. They had been damn lucky, reflected Otto, that their contact had actually perished against the Imperials rather than fleeing; he had stumbled across the man's corpse, already cold and frost-bitten, propped up against a wall in a ruined building, a pistol clutched weakly in his cold fingers and a set of truck keys in his other.

Behind him, the soft rumble of engines and a whoop of success from Helmuth signalled that it was time to get out of the village.

He watched with concern as Kruger sulked over to the battered vehicle, rust peeling off of its chassis and wordlessly hauled himself into the back right after Wilhelm.

Otto turned back, taking one last glance at the ruined village behind him before shouldering his rifle and checking that the gas canister was still safely secured to his back before moving to board the truck.

He furrowed his brows, feeling as though something was off. As he gazed up into the sky, now blackened with great storm clouds, he received his answer as a steady drizzle of rain began to pour down.

For Naggiar, it seemed, Spring had finally arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Today's daily character rip-off report is proudly presented by: **

**The X-Com project, getting poor rookies killed off since 1994. **

**Dr. Vahlen, head researcher of the organization since 2012, has decided to retire from mind-raping Sectoids and dissecting Thin Man balls for plasma weapon research and is now instead contributing her talents to the development of chemical weapons and cancer research at Kerberos. **

**That will be all. Try your best to enjoy the rest of the chapter, it drags a bit more than I would've liked to but I tried to put some context for the story in. **

A voice, firm and commanding, yet at the same time carrying a sense of warmth and comfort wafted down the aqueduct.

_Once there was a little girl, called Little Red Riding Hood, for she wore always that red riding hood. _

It was dark. Musty. Moist. The floor was covered in water, softly splashing as Kruger dutifully marched through.

_Now her mother had made her a suit of clothing for her to wear, and this suit of clothing had been made completely out of metal. _

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the murky water, stoic and emotionless, any sense of emotion crushed under layers of armor.

_Her mother then went away to stay alone in a little cottage in the woods. _

The tunnel seemed to stretch on for an eternity, eerily silent. There was something off about the walls, the molded stone warping, distorted, murky as the black waters beneath Kruger's boots.

"_Only when you have worn out this suit of clothing shall you come and visit me." _

His breaths came out heavy and ragged, his hands tightly clutching his rifle, as though he expected something terrible to occur, but wasn't sure exactly what. The tunnel began to rumble, a deep, bass roar sending ripples across the walls and water.

_So the girl, nodding solemnly, bade her mother goodbye and set to work wearing out her suit of metal clothing. _

His grip tightening around the handle of his weapon in fear, Kruger shivered, glancing around him in confusion, the walls bending and shifting in impossible angles. The voice began to waver, shifting and distorting, octaves peaking and dipping, slurs of sentences sloshing through the water…

… _and left her house for her mother's cottage… _

Kruger took a deep breath, only then becoming aware of his own breathing, small puffs of steam clouding his goggles. It was cold. Why was it so cold?

A terrible sense of foreboding sat in the pits of his stomach as he strode on, tiny crystalline flakes of snow gently floating up from the now ice-blue waters. He wanted to stop marching, to turn around and leave, but his legs refused to obey, his own mind seemingly in rebellion against his wishes.

The walls around him froze over, glistening white frost creeping down from the ceiling.

No. This wasn't right. Where was he?

He gulped as the frost solidified over the molded bricks, a flat sheet of rolling white barring any further progress.

_Pristine and pristine white overalls… _

The water beneath him froze solid, and so did the blood flowing through his veins.

_Don't look down, don't look down… _

He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but found with horrifying realization that he could do no such thing. The mask. The mask had dug into his face, its black metal fingers clawing into his ravaged flesh, his eyelids split open and his eyelids welded with its goggles.

His neck twisted itself, pushing his vision down to the ice that gripped him by the boots.

_Ice blue, clear as the sky… _

The voice came back, but it no longer carried the sense of comfort. It was thin, raspy and reedy like the wind. Wind… wind? No, that couldn't have been right. The wind couldn't speak could it?

_Along the way, she encountered a wolf… _

Turn around.

What?

Turn around.

But he did not want to turn around.

Why?

_Why? _

No answer. Why? Why what?

The wind intensified.

_Why? _

_ Why?_

_ Why? _

The world around him shattered into pieces.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Captain Kruger awoke, his answer died on his lips as he groggily shook himself free of the tendrils of his dreams.

Otto and Wilhelm, both slumped against the interior of the rattling, dank and dark back of the truck, barely spared a second glance at him before fixing their crimson eyepieces back to the floor.

Kruger spared a quick glance into the truck's cab, peeking around Helmuth's large frame in an attempt to see out the front windshield.

He was surprised to see the familiar gray hallways of the main bunker complex that Kerberos inhabited, hiding right beneath Randgriz. _What time is it? _

The last time he had been awake, the truck had been clanking and rattling, its worn tires ploughing through thick mud with rain beating on its chassis. That had been mere hours after they left Naggiar. Surely they couldn't have returned so soon?

He glanced down at his watch, but was unable to make out the time in the darkness. He cursed his own foolishness for neglecting that fact before slumping back against the shivering frame of the truck.

He rolled his neck around as he tried to clear the remnants of his disturbingly vivid nightmare from his head, his father's voice still echoing in his ears. It was an odd feeling. The last time he had even thought of the man, nevermind dreaming of him, had been…

He furrowed his brows. _What, ten? Fifteen years? _To have those thoughts resurface now, and in such a matter…

_Why? _

He let a shaky sigh slip out of his cracked lips, closing his eyes. What was wrong with him? He had killed in cold blood many times before, executing unarmed soldiers, silencing their pleas with barely a second thought. What then, had been different this time?

_Why? _

The truck ponderously screeched to a halt, aged metal shrieking in protest and tearing him loose of his thoughts. Light flooded the truck interior as a set of gates opened, a massive, open garage bustling with activity lying within. Helmuth loosed a loud yawn, leaning back into the passenger area. The air noticeably lightened in the truck as he spoke.

"Well, that's it. Welcome home."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Randgriz, "The Wolf's Den"_

_March 14 _

A single light burned harshly above Prime Minister Maurits Von Borg, oppressive, drab grey smothering the small meeting room he was confined to. He ran a manicured hand through his straightened golden locks, smoothing out his light blue garb and flicking non-existing flecks of dust for the umpteenth time in half an hour.

He folded his hands in his lap adjusting his position in the cold, unforgiving metal chair he had been so graciously provided with ever so slightly and waited. Another five minutes passed as he stared irritably at the two empty chairs across the table (which, annoyingly enough, happened also to be the same damnable grey colour he had been assaulted with the moment he had been escorted into the bunker) from him.

He forcibly blew out a hot, angry breath as he leaned against the table for support, cupping his face with one hand and tapping at the metal table with his other.

The two Kerberos guards flanking him didn't move a muscle, didn't murmur a single grunt, just stood with their machine guns leveled at the hip, ready to blow away a non-existent assassin just as they had been for the past forty minutes. Covered head to toe in black armor, twisted gas masks clasped over their faces, they resembled statues more than actual people.

Von Borg had imagined the headquarters of one of his most enigmatic associates to be many things: overwhelmingly _boring _was not one of them. For certain, the oppressive curtains of grey that blanketed everything and the security guards, as impassive as their armored and masked elite counterparts would have intimidated a great many people; Borg was not one of them.

_Black and grey, black and grey, occasional dash of actual colour once in a while, _he reflected bitterly. For once, the blinding seas of white and light blue that drowned Castle Randgriz seemed so very inviting. And that said something.

He shook his head, leaning back into his chair and contemplating the so very frustrating situation he had gotten himself into. _Damnable woman, _he thought. _Slippery little snake! _

Barely two years had passed since he had made the decision to allow Kerberos to… "take shelter" in Gallia's capital, on the terms that he would do everything in his power to keep their presence concealed to the public. It had seemed like a good deal at the time, with tensions already brewing between the Empire and Federation and war on the horizon, it was a very appealing concept to have outside aid to bolster Gallia's army.

What he had never anticipated was that the High Marshal lacked the courtesy to reciprocate in what was meant to be a mutually beneficial agreement, and now _he _was being harassed by his political allies for something out of his control.

Finally, nearly hour after the meeting time he had scheduled, the door opposite to him (the only damn thing in the room that _wasn't _black or grey but rather a pleasant shade of tan) was eased open and High Marshal Sofie Kraemer, with a heavy black coat draped over her body strode in.

Her voice was gravelly, an ugly and unpleasant noise for the years passed had not been kind to her vocal cords. "My apologies for keeping you waiting Prime Minister. I do hope you've enjoyed your time here so far," she said, her sharp brown eyes glinting with smugness as she knew full well from Borg's stance he felt anything but well-accommodated.

_Bitch, _he thought. "Yes, yes, very much so," he responded neutrally, figuring that it would be particularly unwise to verbally attack the woman who had two very heavily armed guards positioned right behind him.

She merely flashed him a predatory smirk, easing herself into a chair opposite to him and gently removed her peaked cap. The chair, solid metal, made no sound as she sat down, smoothing out her silver-streaked black hair with her hands before leaning forwards against the table, a scowl taking the place of her grin, her already lightly wrinkled face creasing in displeasure.

"And so," she began, "what brings you here?"

"I think that much should be clear enough," he replied, his voice hardening. "Citadel Ghirlandaio fell to the Imperial Army just days ago, and the Gallian army is in disarray."

He let the words hang in the air for the briefest of moments, enough for him to study Kraemer's face for any sign of reaction, but short enough not to seem too awkward. Nothing. Her face remained scrunched up in that hideous, twisted look of irritation.

In the mere span of a few seconds, he already managed to deduce that the woman knew full well what had happened. That meant she was either too damn stupid to anything about the rapidly advancing Imperials, or she was planning something else. It wasn't much to go on, but it gave Borg a starting point with how to proceed.

"Now of course, if our valiant troops could be given some… outside aid…"

Kraemer's rejection was swift and final, cutting off Borg before he could utter another syllable. "No." Caught off guard by the sudden interruption, Borg paused for a moment in an attempt to compose an intelligent rebuttal.

"May I inquire exactly why?"

Kraemer's face softened, a mask of neutrality smoothing over the snarl she wore. Yet even then, he could detect the slightest smirk playing on her lips as she responded.

"No."

_Damn you!_

"Do you not realize that this is a danger to you and your organization as well? When I agreed to your conditions, I expected-"

"I am well aware of the threat and have already taken measures to combat it."

Her next sentence came coated with venom and menace.

"Measures that you need not concern yourself with, Prime Minister."

Her message was clear enough. _Stay out of my business. _

But Borg wasn't about to let her slip by that easily. He had arranged the meeting for a purpose, and he wasn't out of ideas yet. A good politician was always prepared.

"Yes, of course. I had no intentions of doing so. However, I am afraid that many of my colleagues are, less than pleased with your lack of aid." He let the words hang in suspense, again probing for a reaction from Kraemer. Still nothing. The woman's face was as solid as a rock. He supposed it was only fitting that the leader of a horde of faceless and emotionless puppets would be just as stoic as her minions.

"In fact, several have proposed the idea of forcibly… evicting you from our city…" _That _caught her attention. Her face still betrayed no emotion but she leaned forwards against the table, and Borg even caught a glimpse of the two guards behind him exchanging glances. He suppressed the urge to smirk. Maybe he was finally getting somewhere.

"Now of course, even with my extensive influence, I would not be able to keep your presence protected as we have agreed." No response. _Good. _That meant Kraemer was thinking. And if she was thinking, then she was re-evaluating her decision.

"Of course, if you decided to dedicate even a fraction of your organization's resources to our aid-"

"How much?"

So close. So very close.

"Anything should be enough to keep the off of your backs for the time being…"

_And more importantly, mine as well. _

"… but you must be mindful of our own military's situation. It is in dire need of replacements, and any troops you may be able to dedicate to the war would be most welcome."

He could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he waited for a reply, realizing that this was the key moment. If Kraemer didn't get onboard with promising concrete aid to Gallia, it was likely that she was never going to contribute and it was very possible that the nation would have another fight on its hands.

He himself could have cared less about the country's plight, but it would put him in a very precarious situation. He had many political enemies that would no doubt jump at the opportunity to decry him for supporting Kerberos, and the High Marshal would doubtlessly be less than pleased if they chose to reveal their presence to the public…

Which of course, meant that he would be caught between two sides, both having the ability to destroy him easily. If he fled Gallia, he would have nothing. He grimaced at the mere thought. With how things were going, even if Kerberos did pledge their military support, he may ultimately have to run regardless in the face of the Imperial onslaught.

The silence was shattered as a loud _buzz _blared out of a speaker in the corner. Kraemer was shaken from her thoughts, a flash of annoyance in her eyes as she picked herself up from the table.

"I am afraid I'll have to cut this meeting short for the time being. I will… consider your proposition. You may expect a reply in the following days but until then, I suggest that we keep contact to a minimum."

Kraemer's reluctant response wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing.

"Very well," he replied cordially as he pushed himself out of his chair.

Kraemer left in a hurry, mumbling a farewell as she rammed her cap down on her head and an armored man that Borg had not noticed before slipped out of the shadows and followed her out the door.

"Shall I have transport arranged for you sir?"

Borg was surprised to note that the voice, even distorted by the guard's speakers built into their mask, was noticeably _female_.

He stared back at the armored soldier in surprise, her form completely indiscernible under layers of reinforced plating. He had never even considered what their gender might have been, simply immediately assuming it was a man due to the bulky, concealing suit she wore.

"Sir?" She queried again at the dumbfounded Prime Minister.

"Hm? No, no, it's fine. I would be appreciative if you would simply escort me to the nearest exit."

The woman glanced over to her colleague and exchanged a brief nod with the man (or woman?) before pulling the door behind Borg open (which irritably enough was actually the same damn metal grey as everything else) and allowed him to stride through before following suit, her weapon readied at hip level.

Borg passed through the dimly lit hallways feeling nothing in particular, his worries from before concerning Kerberos put at ease but a dozen other issues already began to nag at him. He simply sighed and continued on his way.

_Some fresh air would be nice. _Yes, indeed. Perhaps he would visit a restaurant for the night. Or even retire to a hotel, anything that would keep him away from Castle Randgriz.

For the last thing he needed after spending the better part of two hours in dimly lit oceans of grey was spending the rest of his day confined to a blinding white and blue Hell.

_At this rate, _he reflected jokingly, _I might even consider running to the Empire. At least their sense of architecture seems much more appealing. _

Whatever humor as he suddenly realized how real the possibility of fleeing to the Empire might turn out to be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Captain Kruger and his squad stuck out like sore thumbs in the research wing, scientists and engineers in clean white lab coats casting occasional curious glances at the four fully armed and armored figures that stood awkwardly at the room's double-gated entrance before returning to their busywork without a second thought.

If anyone appeared to care about the canister that Otto purposely held in plain sight, they didn't show it. He wouldn't have been surprised if anyone in the room even knew that his team had left the base.

_Layers upon layers, _Kraemer had once said to him. At the very bottom were the busybodies, the people who carried out their orders without question and half the time had no idea what was even going on. The higher up people were, the more they knew. Sometimes Kruger pondered where _he _fit in in everything, how in the dark he was, but never lingered on it for long.

If Kraemer had led the organization this far, then she was doing something right, he supposed. If she decided it was unnecessary for him to know certain pieces of information, then it was likely for a reason.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as he saw none other than the resident chief researcher in the bunker stride over to his squad, her auburn hair pulled into a neat bun and a clipboard held diligently at her side.

"Dr. Vahlen," acknowledged Kruger as he snapped off a hasty salute, his team making a half-hearted attempt to follow suit.

"At ease Captain," she replied, her voice thick with a strange accent that Kruger had never been able to identify. "I trust that you have successfully… acquired the package?"

She spoke slowly and hesitantly, careful not to reveal anything too specific to prying ears. Not that it mattered, if the throngs of personnel waltzing right by them in the midst of frantic discussion about research was any indication.

Kruger simply nodded, and motioned Otto forward. He stepped in front of the ragged line that his squad had formed in and, as though he were handling a priceless artifact, gently eased the Ragnite gas canister into Vahlen's arms.

She tucked her clipboard under her arm and accepted the container, her face screwing up in exertion as she adjusted to the unexpectedly heavy weight.

"Do you need some help with that ma'am?" Queried Kruger.

She merely shook her head before carrying the cylinder over to a cart a few paces away, easing it into place and motioning over a pair of common workers.

She strolled back to Kruger's squad, wiping away a bead of sweat from her forehead before addressing them. "That will be all, Captain. I would assume that the High Marshal would like to debrief you personally, and so I will leave you to your own business."

Kruger gave a curt nod and snapped off another sharp salute before she scurried off, already excitedly scribbling down notes on her clipboard. Helmuth chuckled, mumbling something underneath his breath about "typical labcoats".

As he turned to lead his squad out however, a very familiar voice cried out a few paces away from his position.

"Walter!"

Kruger pivoted around as his squad halted in their tracks and looked around in confusion.

A thin smile graced his lips under his mask as Captain Friedrich von Stauffenberg, head of base security strode over with a wide grin plastered on his face, his gas mask dangling from his belt. Kruger had not noticed him before, as his back had been turned and his armor and helmet were still on, and he had simply passed him off as some unknown officer.

"Hello Fred."

Sitting at the age of 38, just one year older than himself, Stauffenberg was one of the very few people Kruger could have considered a friend.

He stood stock still with his hands clasped behind his back and his back straightened as Stauffenberg heartily slapped him on the shoulderpad before stepping back and studying his scratched and scuffed armor.

"Walter, you look like Hell. What happened?"

Kruger turned back to his squad, who were watching the scene unfold with a sense of detached interest, and quickly dismissed them.

"Go on without me. I'll be up there with you in a second."

They dutifully set off with nary a backwards glance as Kruger turned back to address his colleague.

"It's a long story," he said as nonchalantly as he could, falling in step beside Stauffenberg as he motioned for Kruger to walk with him.

"Yeah, I was wondering where you were for the past few days. Kept going to the High Marshal asking her if the patrol routes were changed or something, but no damn reply every single time," said Stauffenberg with a sense of bitterness.

Kruger could hardly say he was surprised. For all his loyalty and competence as a soldier, Stauffenberg had never been one to fall in line with Kraemer's policies. Considering the nature of his most recent mission, it made sense that the woman decided to keep him in the dark.

"I'm sure she was just preoccupied. You know how much shit's going on these days," replied Kruger neutrally, trying his best not to betray anything too important, and above all, trying to avoid the question that Stauffenberg would inevitably ask about his mission. Kraemer had made it clear that absolutely nobody outside of his squad, barring herself and Dr. Vahlen of course, were to know about it.

He had lied to Stauffenberg many times before, and always felt a sense of discomfort with it. It was foolish, he knew, to feel such a way, since it he was just following orders and it wasn't as though Stauffenberg was being harmed in any way; yet he still felt an odd sense of guilt for not being open with him.

The two captains stepped to the side of the hallway, making way for a pair of workers, their overalls dirtied with machine oil, carting out a stack of crates. Stauffenberg simply sighed before continuing.

"Yeah, I know. Still, I'm the goddamn head of security! Am I not supposed to be informed of things like this!?"

Kruger just gave a noncommittal shrug, hoping his friend would stop, but he continued on, his speech quickly beginning to twist into a rant.

"It's that damn secretary I tell you. Never does anything except sit at that damn desk of hers, only reply she seems to know is 'the High Marshal's busy right now' twenty-four fucking seven. And it's not as though you're the only case. I still have at least three other squads unaccounted for, and I sure as Hell can tell they're not out on patrol."

That was new, though he supposed not entirely unexpected.

"Well, you never know. Might be delayed with the whole Imperial advance and everything."

Kruger realized his slip-up too late as Stauffenberg quickly jumped onto the question Kruger had been dreading.

"I guess. That what happened to you?"

"Yeah. Sorta." He cleared his throat, heat beginning to rise in his chest. He usually just deflected Stauffenberg's queries easily enough, but there were times where the man's curiosity got the better of him and he continued to press on. He could only hope it would be the same this time. _Come on, drop it… _

No such luck.

"Heh. Did'ya actually get the chance to see some action?"

"Not really," he replied, trying to make his tale as boring as possible. It usually worked but… damn it. He spared a quick glance down at his coat, smeared with dirt and even a bit of dried blood. Of course he wouldn't buy it.

"Really?" Asked Stauffenberg as he turned his blue eyes on Kruger inquisitively. It was odd to look at them. He never quite noticed it before but they were a very unique shade of blue, clear as the sky but at the same time carrying a coldness to it not unlike ice…

_ Ice blue, clear as the sky…_ _Damn it! Stop! _

"Well…" _Blonde hair… _"… not exactly I guess. I mean, we ran into a small scouting party…" _White overalls… _

Stauffenberg's eyes widened, his attention clearly caught. They seemed impossibly large, wide open as though he was a deer caught in the headlights… Kruger gulped, blinking and trying to clear the image from his mind. _It's not real. It's not real. _

"Wow, already? Where'd you find 'em?"

"Uhh…" _Frosted bones, whispering wind. _"Out right around Naggiar."

_Son of a bitch! _

"Holy shit, what the hell were you doing that far out?"

"Um…" _Why? Why did you do it? _Damn it, he needed to put a stop to this now.

"Well… you know… with the Imperials right on the border and everything, the High Marshal wanted to know what was going on. So yeah. We were supposed to head right up to Ghirlandaio, but the Imps already pushed beyond it by then." At least that held a shred of truth to it.

Thankfully, that seemed to satisfy Stauffenberg for the time being. "Well, at least you were out actually doing something. Unlike most of us here."

He really shouldn't have asked, but curiosity got the better of him anyways and he did. "What do you mean by that? Didn't you just say that there's three more squads out on patrol?"

They slowed to a stop as they reached a junction in the hallways, a large window sitting in front of them and granting an overhead view of a bustling garage below. Stauffenberg let out a bitter chuckle before replying, his voice laced with displeasure.

"Patrol my ass. I know what kind of shit those bastards are out doing."

_Oh shit… does he know? No, don't be ridiculous, of course he doesn't… but he's head of security isn't he?_

"Wh… like what?"

Stauffenberg turned to face Kruger, staring right into his eyelenses. "Like what? Kidnappings, executions, assassinations, you know… _those _kinds of things."

_Shit, shit, shit _

"Come on Fred, they can't be-"

Stauffenberg lowered his voice to a hiss as he leaned forwards, his voice as though it was laced with cyanide.

"They _are_ Walter. I've seen them taking people back. _Children _for the love of the gods! I've fucking heard those _Nacht Jager _ sons of bitches interrogating prisoners in the lower levels!"

Oh he knew. He would know better than most. _Ice blue… _

"Fred, come on, I know you're not a fan of Kraemer's rule but she can't be allowing things like that to happen."

He let out a mirthless laugh. "You really believe that?"

"I _know _her, Fred. I know she wouldn't permit shit like that."

Stauffenberg only sighed, leaning back against the wall in defeat. He ran a gloved hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. Several minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke again.

"Look, I'm sorry for bringing this shit up. It's just…" He paused for a moment.

"Just be careful alright? I know you trust Kraemer and all but… it'd be a damn shame to see someone like you fall prey to manipulation."

Kruger tried to sound confident as he replied, tried to inject that friendly casual tone back in.

"Hey, don't worry. Besides…"

He paused, composing himself for a moment.

"With the Imps knocking on the door, we'll all probably be out seeing some action on the frontlines. We can't stay hidden forever, right? It'll be just like what we trained for. The armored heroes swooping in to save everybody's ass right?"

_Or leave them to die, like we did back at Ghirlandaio... Damn you! Quiet! I had no choice!_

Stauffenberg glanced back up at him, his visage softening and a light smile actually gracing his lips.

"Yeah, I guess."

He glanced down at his watch before speaking again.

"Look, Walter, I gotta go now okay? You go off and do what you need to do, but I don't think I'll be able to meet with you afterwards. I have… things to do."

_It's over. We're good. _

"Yeah. I'll see you."

He turned, marching briskly towards the exit and eager to leave before he made another mistake and made things worse.

"Hey Walter?"

He turned, dread heavy in his heart. _What now? _

"I just… I just wanted to say it's good to have someone like you as a friend. With all this shit going on nowadays… it's just nice to have someone honest to talk to. I appreciate it."

_If only he knew, _thought Kruger bitterly. It was good that Stauffenberg was already halfway down the hall by the time he replied, for he did not hear Kruger's wavering voice.

"Yeah. No problem."

As Stauffenberg rounded the corner, he turned back and glanced at Kruger one last time, his blue eyes steely and emotionless before they were hidden away, crushed by the gas mask he secured back onto his face.


End file.
